#marguerite cadash-tethras

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you @tevivinter for the beautiful commission 🥰🥰 I love them so much.

This is a portrait of the lovely Marguerite Cadash-Tethras all grown up, star of the on-hiatus The Herald’s Gambit. The brunette is Petra of Clan Halvor - a warrior caste exile from Orzammar (was Mags involved in that debacle? Possibly. Most likely. It’s a hell of a story I haven’t written yet) known as an undefeated Proving Champion. 

This commission did inspire me to finish this little snipped about them and those pretty dwarf braids. Enjoy!

Mine, Petra thought dizzily. Mine.

Petra would never admit it, but this was her favorite part of sharing a watch with Mags. 

The two of them sat facing the fire, Mags perched herself on a damp log behind Petra with deft fingers tangled in Petra's dark hair. She tried not to lean into Mags's touch, sitting cross legged between her splayed knees. If she moved just an  inch to the right, she could lean against the soft cotton of Mags’s breeches, rest her cheek on her pillowy thigh. Like an exiled casteless with no family or fortune had a right to be there, or really anywhere near someone like Marguerite Cadash-Tethras.

“Pin.” Mags demanded, thrusting her hand over Petra’s shoulder. Petra held up a fistful and she snatched one from between her fingers immediately, used it to secure the last of the intricate braids woven up the side of Petra’s scalp. Then Mags picked up the long leather tie she’d removed when she began and wove together the rest of the loose hair into a much simpler braid, one that she flipped over the opposite shoulder when she finished. Petra reached up to run her fingers over the elegant work, done as neatly as any deep lord’s wife could want. 

“Satisfied?” Mags teased, leaning too far in so her breath puffed gently across the earrings in Petra's ear.

“Will it keep my hair out of my eyes while I’m slaying our enemies?” Petra huffed, impatient and irritated at her own distraction. 

“And you’ll look beautiful at the same time. Who says you have to sacrifice form for function?” Mags’s smooth voice ended in a  laugh. She nudged Petra’s shoulder with her knee. “My turn?” 

No, maybe this was her favorite part. 

Petra stood from the dust, wiping the assorted leaves and debris from her pants as Mags jumped to her own feet, settling where she’d been. The firelight bounced off her curls, turned them to copper instead of gold. Petra spared a wary glance around them, their companions stretched out on bedrolls, the darkness kept at bay by their small fire. Nothing stirred in the shadows. 

They weren’t really alone, but they were the only two awake, which was as close as they could be to being alone. 

For these shining, star studded hours, Petra had the sun all to herself. 

When she settled on the log, Mags leaned into the space between her thighs, warm and so blessedly assured of herself. Her nimble fingers reached up to start pulling her own pins from the braids decorating her golden locks. 

“Stop.” Petra ordered, slowly moving Mags hands away, mouth dry as she smoothed the mostly loose curls tangling from her high ponytail. She tugged the leather tie loose and let them fall into her ungentle hands. 

Petra never had anything to herself, not growing up in a clan just scraping by, not learning to fight with a dozen others, but she was the only one who spun gold beneath her fingers every night. So she cherished these hours, pulled them selfishly closer to her every evening. 

In the daylight, the woman between her knees would be their brilliant and bright Magpie again, but here…

Mags's smile came slower, softer, in the shadows. Her eyes weren’t quite as steely. The fire and starlight softened all the hard edges of her tongue, made her melt into Petra’s touch as she freed the rest of the braids, ran her fingers through them as softly as she could to untangle them. Mags produced her wide toothed comb and tossed it over her shoulder with a sunny, amused grin. 

Petra fought the urge to wind those curls around her fingers, slowly dragging the comb through them instead. Mags almost immediately began to fiddle with the necklace she wore, the bright blaze of sapphires sparkling in the light. 

“Hey, tell me a secret.” She demanded, like secrets were easy to buy and trade. Perhaps, to her, they were. 

“I don’t have any secrets.” Petra lied, not willing to admit that this, perhaps, was her darkest secret. That these moments were a treasure, a deshyr’s daughter between her thighs, the sun spilling between her fingers. She wasn’t supposed to want the daylight, after all. She belonged to the shadows of the stone. Mags belonged to silk and wealth. That was the way of things. “How do you want your hair?” 

“Dealer’s choice.” She said easily, looking over her shoulder and spearing Petra with a chagrined glance. “Everyone has secrets.” 

“What’s yours then?” Petra asked, secretly gleeful that she got to decide. Petra would leave as much of the golden curls loose as she could so she could follow their sway as they hiked across bleeding Thedas.

Mags looked away, back towards the fire, her fingers still on the pendant she wore, her mother’s pendant. Petra would never see her mother again, but at least Petra knew where she was. Knew she was safe. Mags may never find the answer. 

“I’m afraid.” Mags admitted quietly. 

In the dark, she could be. With Petra, perhaps, more than anyone. Unable to help herself, Petra brushed one thumb down the smooth line of skin behind Mags’s ear, a touch she hoped was soothing. 

“Of what?” Petra asked, but she already knew. Mags was frightened of small spaces, being alone too long, going home empty handed, and failing her family. Mags never said any of those things, of course, but Petra knew. Petra watched her, after all, far more than she should. 

“Spiders.” Mags grinned, lighthearted again. Petra saw just the slightest curve of her smile, uncertain and raw. “Your turn. What are you frightened of?” 

Petra said the word before she thought about it. “You.” 

Beneath her, Mags stiffened, and Petra immediately began cursing. Mags tugged free of her gentle grip and turned, spearing her with a bewildered and hurt look. “Me? Why are you afraid of me? Is it because I’m…” 

Different. Because she had magic she could barely use, more likely to implode on them at any moment than to actually be helpful. Petra watched her struggle with the word before discarding it, a flush rising to her face, temper beginning to eclipse pain. 

She never meant to hurt her. Petra would never harm her. If she had her way, she’d become the knight from the stories Mags’s father once weaved, the ones Mags kept hidden in her pack. Tales for a precocious child in a dangerous world, one who needed a bulwark against the storm, a safe place for a Magpie to rest her wings. 

If the choice was between hurting Mags or hurting herself, the choice was obvious. 

“Fuck.” Petra swore, looking away from those beloved eyes and into the darkness. “I’m scared of losing you because you’re reckless, you’re mad. You think you’re invincible and nothing will ever hurt you. I’m less afraid of dying myself than I am of losing you and that’s terrifying.” 

“What?” Not much shocked Mags, but this did. Petra watched her recoil, alarmed by the intensity of emotions. 

Alarmed by the confession, more like. Petra could not have the sun, it did not belong to her. She knew it, but if she was going to ruin everything she was going to do it properly. “Since the first day I saw you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I know you. I know the way you walk, the way your hair curls, the way you smile when you lie, and I could still spend the rest of my days learning more about you. If I lost my sodding eyes, my hearing, all my limbs I would still know you. I would know you anywhere, Marguerite.” 

Mags was in her blood, engraved in the stone that lined her heart. She always would be. The same way this memory would haunt her, Mags eyes wide with shock, pulling away to…

Petra stood, nearly tripped over the damn log as she took several steps into the circle of dark surrounding them. She needed to get away from that look, away from the disgust she swore would come next. This was not allowed, this…

“Wait.” Mags whispered plaintively, scrambling up from the ground. “This is where you kiss me, right? You can’t say all of that and not kiss me. It’s not allowed.” 

It was Petra’s turn to be shocked. She stared in stunned disbelief as Mags took one slow step forward, a tentative smile curling her lips. Her hair fell loose in waves down her back, turned to a halo of light by the flames behind her. She extended her hand slowly, like she was afraid of startling a nug. 

“What?” Petra asked, unsure of the turn this had taken. Mags giggled.

“This is the part of the story where you kiss me. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” She was teasing again, her expression lighter, softer than Petra had ever seen it. She couldn’t tell in the shadows, but she swore a blush was creeping up Mags’s fair skin. 

The sun was throwing herself at her feet. And Petra was too weak to say no. 

She crossed back to Mags, tangling her steady hands into those loose curls, and brought her lips crashing against Mags’s own. Petra swore she could feel the stone inside her softening, melting into a core of lava, blazing and bright as Mags’s lips under hers. 

[sinsbymanka]

She remembers the way he looked at Magpie in the Fade, like she was precious, with wistful longing in his eyes and a sad tip to his lips. 

Solas doesn’t need a revolution. He needs something to live for. 

Moodboard for @rare-egg-hunt and the fic Cheating the Dread Wolf. This is a line from the upcoming Chapter 3 and really encapsulates the whole fic. Solas gets a found family whether he wants it or not. 

From left to right, top to bottom, we’ve got Maria Cadash, Solas,Varric Tethras, and the absolutely precious Marguerite (Magpie) Tethras-Cadash. 

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you for the prompt, @tevivinter​! For @dadrunkwriting​, may I present Maria and her daughter!

The sounds of the party spilled out into the evening air even as Maria shut the shimmering glass door behind her. The garden was silent, too early for lovers to slip away and hide among the strategically pruned hedges and cozy nooks. The darkness of the keep’s garden was illuminated by nothing more than stars piercing the sky above them. Maria took a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she stepped away from the glow of the windows and the clink of glasses, the murmured hush of conversation broken by a shrill laugh. 

Maria paused on the path into the hedge maze, chuckling to herself as she crouched down to pick up one perfectly formed rosette, crafted cleverly out of silk with a seed pearl sewn in the center. Casting her eyes down the path, she saw a trail of near identical flowers scattered over the ground. 

And she thought Magpie liked her dress this evening. Apparently her mercurial child had changed her mind. 

Maria’s own skirts, still too cumbersome even without all the hoops and layers every other noble in the blighted ballroom wore, whisked too loudly against the ground. It would be just the sound to give her away to an assassin, if one lingered. Which, of course, they probably didn’t. She was, after all, home. Surrounded by guards, thick stone walls, and all the goodwill and power Varric could fortify them with. 

But Maria hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid. She let her skirts trail anyway, the same way a snake rattled it’s tail. A warning for all those who dared get too close. 

As she drew near the center of the maze, she could hear the trickle of water. The rosettes came less frequently, but Maria didn’t need the trail. She knew where Magpie went as soon as she saw them heading into the maze. She knew the way, under a floral arch, heavy with the scent of jasmine, and emerging into a clearing with benches and a large, solid fountain. 

A structure that literally dwarfed the young woman sitting on the edge of the basin, the water lapping at her legs, ruined silk clinging to her up to her waist. She’d ripped the pins out of her hair too, and it fell out of the braids to her shoulders. Magpie didn’t turn at the soft sound of silk on the ground, and that made Maria frown. 

If she was an assassin...

But her daughter didn’t need to be frightened in her own home, that was why Maria and Varric existed, after all. She approached silently, listening to the soft humming as Magpie trailed her fingers through the water. 

The ten year old didn’t know Maria was next to her until she thrust her arm forward, crumpled rosette in her palm. “I thought you liked the flowers?” 

Magpie whirled on her, pale eyes reflecting Maria’s shadow and the stars above. She took in the false flower, then latched onto Maria’s gaze. “Is dad angry?” She asked quietly.

At his Sunshine? Maria couldn’t even imagine it. “Worried.” She said, sitting beside her. “More worried when you didn’t come back. I thought you wanted to come tonight, love.” 

“I did!” Magpie protested, kicking her heel into the water, causing a small splash that sent ripples in all directions. “I did. Until that stupid bard and his stupid song.” 

Ah. Maria had to fight to keep the amusement off her features. “What was it called again?” 

“Ode to the Flower of Kirkwall, Marguerite Tethras.” Magpie wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Did you hear it?” 

“Only the part about the warm sun bequeathing you with a glow that caused you to burst from the soil with vigor and, what was it?” Maria paused, thoughtful. “

“Youthful vigor and the promise of fields of wildflowers in my wake. It was embarrassing.” Magpie huffed. 

“Aveline chucked him out the backdoor and told him not to come back.” Maria soothed gently, dropping the rosette in the water and bringing her hand to rest lightly on her daughter’s chilled silk-clad skin. “All things considered, the dress was bad luck, wasn’t it?” 

“I don’t want to be the Flower of Kirkwall. I want to be...” Magpie trailed off, fisting her own hands in the wet silk. Maria waited, patiently. 

“Can I come with you?” Magpie turned to grab her arm, imploring. “The next time you leave? I’ve been practicing with the bow. Donnic says I’m as good as any guardsman. I promise, I’ll listen.” 

Maria paused to give the impression she was considering, even as the word burnt the tip of her tongue. “No, Magpie. You’re too young.” 

“When, then?” She asked, impatient and reckless, looking so like Bea in the darkness, rebellious and proud, that Maria could weep. “I want to be like you.”

Maria Cadash learned to slit a man’s throat at twelve. She watched life bleed out of many more before that. Zarra always said she wouldn’t shield her granddaughters from life’s brutality. 

Maria wanted to do better. She could afford to do better, couldn’t she? That was the reason for the silk dress, the walls, the parties and meetings and endless trivialities that her and Varric were far too old for. 

Her daughter could be better than she was. 

“We’ll all talk about it in the morning, but not for a couple more years at least, Magpie.” As long as Maria could put it off, honestly. 

“You don’t trust me.” The sulking pout didn’t dim her daughter’s pretty features. Flower of Kirkwall, indeed. They’d have their hands full, someday. 

“I do.” Maria wrapped her arm snugly around Magpie’s waist and pulled her tight. “I especially trust your aim. I cannot believe you managed to hit that man with a piece of cake so perfectly. I’ve never been more impressed.” 

That was enough to make her daughter giggle and lean into the one-armed embrace. Enough to allow Maria to escape the question one more time. 

When can I come with you?

Never, Maria thought. The dread wolf wouldn’t catch her daughter’s scent while she still lived, whatever it took. 

[sinsbymanka]

A Drabble to Celebrate 100+ followers?!

I recently noticed that somehow this humble little dragon age blog managed to obtain one hundred followers. Which is just insane to me. I can’t believe y’all like me. I’m going to assume that most of you are here for the memes (as you should be - they’re hilarious) BUT I wanted to give you something to celebrate anyway. It’s not a meme, but it’s an adorable Papa!Varric piece that is pure fluff and domestic bliss. Enjoy!

I also posted this at AO3 cause I really like it

The Perks of Being the Viscount

Being Viscount had remarkably few perks. 

In fact, Varric thought, the perks were usually nearly as bad as the job duties itself. He wasn’t particularly interested in the choice society invitations, didn’t care for the gaudy gifts or sizable bribes that kept showing up, and if he had to accept one more honor at one more boring ceremony, he’d fall asleep into his overcooked chicken dinner. 

But moments like this, when he had a room full of shocked, pompous assholes who could do nothing but stare, agog, nearly made it all worth it. 

As usual, his daughter had started the whole debacle. 

Marguerite Cadash-Tethras sat beside him, book discarded. She told him she was reading one of Brother Genitivi’s histories for her tutors, but now that she’d abandoned the tome to satisfy her own curiosity, he could see she had a copy of the latest popular ballad shoved between the pages. She could be bored with Genetivi and her lessons, but Varric thought it was more likely she’d finished the damn thing a week ago and her tutor had been too daft to notice. 

Clearly, she needed something more challenging. And maybe a tiny lecture about not fleecing her tutors on the regular. 

But, first, he was going to sit back and enjoy the show. He let his eyes flick from his daughter’s profile to the redhead beside her who was suddenly very engrossed in her tea, cheerfully stirring it with far too much vigor. Varric couldn’t miss the mischievous glimmer in Maria’s eyes after all these years, though, and it only meant one thing.

They were both on the same page. This meeting was going to get a hell of a lot more interesting, and they were definitely both just going to let it happen. 

Their daughter stared down the merchant princes from Antiva on the other end of the table like she’d been doing it all of her twelve years on Thedas. And, really, that wasn’t too far off the mark. When Maria was gone, which was far too often for his taste, Mags hated to be separated from Varric. To be honest, he rested a bit easier with his daughter only an arm’s length away too. It became just one more of the Viscount’s eccentricities, that the daughter sat in on so many of his meetings, accompanied him on his duties, and was generally allowed to ask as many impertinent questions as she wished.

Clearly, nobody had warned the Antivans. 

“I’m sorry, milord?” One of the men turned his attention from Mags’s piercing gray eyes to Varric, clearly confused about who had asked the question. Varric fought back his chuckle. Barely.

“Sunshine.” He inclined his head towards Mags, indulgent and amused. “I don’t think the gentleman heard your question. Go ahead and ask again.” 

“If he doesn’t answer you this time, Magpie, we can write it down. Or do a dramatic reenactment. Maybe that’ll do the trick.” Maria whispered theatrically, the words carrying across the table. The ears on several of the merchants began to turn interesting shades of red. 

This, Varric thought fondly, was the only real perk of this job. Bringing one and a half unmanageable women to boring meetings just to see what trouble they stirred up. 

“I asked,” Mags raised her voice, young face quite serious and earnest. “Why are they so cheap?” 

The object of her question, a long broadsword, lay in front of one of the merchant princes. He pulled a practiced, false smile onto his face. One that managed to be just the right amount of patronizing. His daughter pulled her shoulders back immediately, seriousness becoming irritation. “Why, milady, what a clever question. I’d heard you had your father’s mind and your mother’s beauty. How pleased I am to find it so.” 

“But you’re not answering it.” She stated stubbornly, flicking her eyes uncertainly to Varric. He nodded, reassuring, and waved at her to continue. She did. “Why are they so cheap?” 

“We have recently been able to refine our smelting process, milady.” The man droned, eloquent and practiced. “With less waste, we…” 

“But Orzammar has the best smiths, and their blades cost twice as much.” Mags argued, her own color rising, looking helplessly to her mother. “How much is iron ore? Aveline said it was more expensive ‘cause of a flood.” 

“40 silvers per pound right now, love.” Maria answered deftly, lips twitching at the corners as she struggled to hide her own smile. 

“How much do you swords weigh?” Mags asked the merchant. 

The man sputtered, helpless. “Milady, I’m uncertain…” 

Mags sighed, impatient, twisting in her chair to pierce one of the guards at the door with her bright gaze. “Kallen? How much does your sword weigh?” 

Kallen tipped his head to the side, considering. “About three pounds, miss. Give or take.” 

“Thank you.” Mags said quickly, twisting back in her seat. “If a broadsword weighs three pounds, that sword costs over a sovereign alone in materials, assuming your smelting produces no waste. You’re only charging two sovereigns per piece. Why?” 

“As a special offer to the Viscount and his lady…” The merchant began nervously, pointing his eyes back at Varric in a silent plea to end the interrogation. 

“Oh, leave me out of this mess.” Maria muttered into her tea. “I don’t want your bleedin’ swords. The ones Aveline has are fine.” 

“Well, Sunshine.” Varric jumped in, resting his arm on the back of Mags’s chair. “I think you’ve pointed out a bit of a problem.” 

“Milord, you cannot seriously be considering allowing a child to…” The man stepped forward, face growing thunderous with anger. Maria shifted in her own chair, always alert for danger, gently setting her cup down on the saucer and sending a cold, commanding gaze across the room. 

“I think, perhaps.” Maria said pointedly. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.” 

“I couldn’t agree more, Princess. But it’s your call, Sunshine.” He winked down at his daughter’s pinkening face, her temper coloring her skin the same way Maria’s always did. “You wanna make him squirm a bit more?” 

“No.” Mags said petulantly, picking her book back up and curling into her chair. “He can go.” 

“You heard the lady.” Varric jerked his thumb over his chair. “I trust you can find the exit.” 

The merchant and his entourage stalked out of the room, complaining in Antivan the whole time. Maria caught some of it, most likely the curse words, because she laughed softly as the door slammed shut behind them. 

“Nicely done, Magpie.” Maria praised, winding one of their daughter’s curls around her finger. 

“What do you think the issue is with the swords?” Varric asked, curious. Mags scowled into her book moodily, wrenching away from Maria’s clever hand. 

“They’re not iron or they’re not payin’ anyone to forge them.” She grumbled. “Which you two knew before we even got in here, didn’t you?” 

“Guilty.” Varric admitted. “But we needed to give Aveline time to raid the warehouse.” 

“Why couldn’t I go with Aveline to raid the warehouse?” Mags asked, frowning. Maria and Varric shared a tender, amused look over her head. 

“Well.” Maria began, half-laughing. “You are only twelve and we’re trying to get you to eighteen with minimal bloodshed.” 

“And…” Varric quickly reached into the book, pulling the loose papers of the story from within and shaking them pointedly. “Someone has some apologizing to do to at least one tutor.” 

Mags’s sullen expression quickly lightened into something contrite. “I can explain.”

“Make it a good one, Sunshine.” Varric said, settling into his chair. “And I may let you off easy.”

[sinsbymanka]

Love Yourself Challenge- Show Your 5 Favorite Things

I’ve been tagged by the ever lovely @fasterpuddytat​ and now I have to think of 5 things I made that I really like! 

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc. ) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Alright, here we go kids: 

1. The Girl with the Arrow Tattoo

While finishing off my (mostly canon compliant) retelling of Trespasser featuring Inquisitor Cadash, I had a dream of a modern!Maria Cadash getting into an argument with Varric Tethras in a fancy hotel lobby while she was playing a grand piano. (Seriously). An idea I quickly became obsessed with and which took a couple different forms before it began to morph into what it became. My love-child: The Girl with the Arrow Tattoo. 

This story features a Modern!Thedas with magic, witches, templars, and at least one dragon that didn’t get the “should be extinct” memo. Maria Cadash is the daughter of a cop from a working class neighborhood who through tragic circumstances ends up brutally tied to the Ostwick Carta and unable to escape on her own. When the world goes to shit - she’s the woman at the center of the explosion. She brings to the Inquisition the weird refugee kid she rescued in Ostwick who’s actually a witch’s familar in human form (Sweet baby Cole), former decorated Par Vollen military defector, prize fighter, and her lawyer the Iron Bull, and her sister Beatrix Cadash who takes her clothes off while dancing for both fun and money. 

Varric Tethras, in the custody of the Seekers, is forced to navigate a rather more nuanced path than he originally intended. His original goal, keep Hawke out of the Seeker’s hands, is quickly supplanted by rapt fascination with the cagey, sexy, and quick-witted Carta member spinning the Inquisition around her fingers. Long used to dealing with weird shit, Varric relies on the tech-genius of his former flame combined with the magical skill of Champion Hawke to navigate a world on fire. His favorite little device is an AI named Bianca that is consistently whispering in his ear through an earpiece and consistently states, convincing nobody, that she’s incapable of feeling jealousy. 

My favorite part of this story is the modern!magic, by far. No staffs to be found here, Hawke uses a zippo as a focus, Dorian’s’ got a pen and a familiar that likes shiny things (mostly Varric’s earring). The nightmare that was Redcliffe took place in a hotel, the next chapter features them heading to an abandoned hospital. Guns! Hexes! Motorcycles! Cell phones! It’s good shit. I enjoy it utterly. 

TW for this fic: Strongly implied dubious consent to sexual activities, domestic violence, graphic violence, suicide, blood and gore. 

2. The Viscount’s Mistress

The working title of this fic before it was posted was “The Death of Inquisitor Cadash” which probably adequately captures the amount of angst in this fic. Set in the same universe as “Of Miracles & Heroes” which goes over the initial formation of Maria Cadash’s canon Inquisition. (Please don’t read of Miracles and Heroes I’m so embarrassed of it, it needs redone. It was my first foray back into fanfiction.) 

This fic, I think, can be mostly read alone. There’s some callbacks to the plot of Miracles and Heroes, but it mostly focuses on the relationship between Varric Tethras and Maria Cadash and events immediately preceding, during, and immediately after Trespasser. How does Varric balance the Viscount’s crown and his impetuous, reckless lover? How does Maria cope when everything she worked for begins to peel away?

If she’s not the Inquisitor anymore, what is she? 

Added to this fic is a pregnancy, a deep dive into Merchant’s Guild nonsense, and some interesting sibling dynamics as Bea Cadash rolls back into town at the closing act after vanishing for two years, trailing trouble in her wake. I bawled like a baby writing some of this. The middle of this fic is so angsty it’s crazy, but it’s capped off by fluff before ending on a cliff hanger that leads into the stalled “The Herald’s Gambit” which I will pick back up when I have energy, promise. 

This fic is complete though! TWs: Implied miscarriage, sexually charged violence/threats of violence, suicidal ideation, and just angst. So much angst. 

3. Mood Boards

I like to make Mood Boards when I should be writing sometimes cause I find them inspiring and great for procrastinating. Here is one of my recent favorites featuring two characters from the uncompleted/stalled Herald’s Gambit: Marguerite Cadash-Tethras, heiress to Kirkwall, and Petra of Clan Kuhn, Orzammar’s Proving Champion. 

4. Poetry

I recently got back into poetry, which is fun. Here’s something I wrote and published on my Instagram that people really seemed to like. The title is “Settling”. 

5. My Wedding Flowers

Hubby and I have been together for something like five years, but we just got married last May so these still count. I made approximately 500 flowers out of book pages for my wedding bouquet and decorations. BY HAND. It took me FOREVER and I still have hot glue gun scars. The books were from thrift stores/used book stores but they also were books that were favorites of my husband, my father, and myself. I’ve been told I should start to sell these on Etsy and I absolutely will not - they were too much work, but I can certainly teach other people how to make them. 

Also - my wedding anniversary is May 4th because that’s awesome and we’re that nerdy. 

Alright - so who wants to play? @imakemywings​, @eranehn​, @lostinfantasies38​, @silvanils​, @kita-lavellan​, and anyone else?